Dayo had spent the morning inside Luna's voice.
That was the easiest way to think of it.
The studio was dim, not because anyone was trying to create mystery, but because Luna preferred it that way when she was working through something personal. The main lights stayed low. The desk lamps were enough. A half-finished cup of tea sat near her lyric notebook, untouched for almost an hour. Wayne had left three different mixes open on the system before disappearing to take a call, and the speakers still carried the last trace of a piano line they had replayed too many times.
The EP was no longer an idea.
It had shape now.
